


Silver Linings In Pouring Rain

by interorbitalteeth



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Booker is an Ally (tm), Booker is kind of a wreck and Wade is into that, College Professors AU, F/F, Joe and Nicky and Nile won't really be in this fic sorry, Lin belongs to my server friend Jester, Lin is a fucking menace but she means well, M/M, Please don't be hacking into people's Facebook profiles for your "older brother", Romantic Comedy, She's Booker's TA and honorary "little sister", That I was actually planning on writing instead of this, They'll be in the sort-of sequel, Transgender Male Character, Wade is kinda nuts and Booker is into that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interorbitalteeth/pseuds/interorbitalteeth
Summary: Sebastien “Booker” Le Livre is a divorced, depressed Computer Science professor who's sworn to himself and everyone he knows that he's done with romantic relationships. His best friends Andromache “Andy” Selinofoto and Quynh Duong think otherwise, and keep setting him up with colleagues. When they set him up with the newest of these, the chaotic Scottish-born Ancient History professor, Wade MacDougall, what follows is an unexpected romance between the two men, with Booker accompanied all the way by Polina “Lin” Serafima, his gremlin of a TA and unofficial “little sister.”
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko (background), Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Original Female Character (past), Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character (past)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Blind Date

“C'mon, Book, just give him a chance! He already said he'd do it!”

Andy and Quynh barged into his office about ten minutes ago, just as he was finishing his preliminary class e-mails to remind his students that late work was only accepted with prior notice, even though he knows he'll eventually go back on his word and just accept assignments when they're actually done. It's early September, and the air conditioning in the Comp Sci building is working overtime, the outdated machine chugging loudly. Lin is off doing whatever the hell she does when she's not here, and his best friends are trying to set him up on yet another blind date.

“And he's a History professor, so if things don't work out, you'll never have to see him again,” Quynh adds. “Please, Booker, Andromache and I think you and him would fit well together. He's even sober, like you, so you won't feel pressured into drinking around him.”

A large part of Booker wants to say “no.” Wants to tell them to fuck off and stop trying to hook him up with random colleagues. Wants to remind them that his divorce was only three years ago, that he still sometimes misses Jehanne like a drowning man misses breathing. But they've been so good to him, picking him up off the floor and dragging him (sometimes literally) to therapy in the bleak, hopeless days right after Jehanne left him, supporting him on his path to sobriety, giving him chance after chance that he definitely doesn't deserve. They mean well, they mean so well.

“Fine, fine, fine,” he groans. “I'll do it. But if this doesn't work out, you two can't set me up on any more dates for the rest of the semester. Deal?”

“Deal,” Andy says, reaching out to shake his hand. “Trust us, Book, you're really gonna like Wade. He's such a cute, energetic guy. Totally your type.”

And then suddenly it's Friday, and Booker is in his apartment, almost ready. He's wearing his nicest button up, his favorite grey slacks. He's done his hair with pomade, trimmed his mustache and beard, and put on cologne. He's stared at himself in the mirror for thirty minutes psyching himself up and also debating whether his eyebags make him look disgusting or not. Now he's just standing in front of the door as he puts his shoes on, heart hammering in his chest. Why does he always get so fucking nervous? It's just a date, just meeting a new person in an unregulated environment where anything could go wrong at any moment, where he could completely humiliate himself in front of dozens of people, where he -

No, no, no. He's not going down that mental path again. He's better than that, stronger than that. He has coping mechanisms now, ways to deal with bad situations. Things will be fine, and if they're not, he'll survive.

The restaurant is a cozy little bistro far enough away from campus that nobody would recognize him if he made a complete fool of himself. He parks his car outside and walks in, settling himself at a table close to the door. Andy and Quynh said that he'd recognize Wade right away, that he was kind of impossible to miss, but didn't really give him any clear details on what he looked like, just that he was short with brown hair and a very distinct style of dress. Booker sips his Diet Coke and waits.

It's about seven or eight minutes later that a man bursts into the restaurant, trods up to the hostess desk, and in a loud Scottish accent, asks the hostess if a “Sebastien” is waiting on someone. Well, Andy and Quynh weren't kidding when they said the man dressed a bit unconventionally. He's wearing a plum-colored leather jacket and an honest-to-god kilt, with thick argyle socks above leather boots.

“Um, hello, that's me,” Booker says meekly. “You must be Wade.”

Wade's head whips around and he grins. He's got thick, wavy brown hair that falls to just under his chin, a stubbly beard, and hazel eyes so bright they look almost golden.

“Ah, there you are!” he says, walking over to the table and plopping down across from Booker. “Sorry I'm late, I'm obviously not familiar with the area.”

“No, no, it's fine,” Booker mumbles. “How are you settling in? Andy and Quynh said you just got to the States about a month and a half ago.”

“Eh, not too bad, all things considered. I was in London before this, and Philadelphia is a damn sight better than that shithole.”   
Wade's eyes widen and he covers his mouth.

“Oh shit, I keep forgetting that Americans aren't as comfortable with cursing as we are across the pond! I'm so sorry!”

Booker chuckles. “Oh, trust me, I don't care. And I'm not really American, either, I'm from Montreal originally.”

Wade chuckles back, a low, raspy sound. “Oh, so you're Canadien then, are you? Should've known, with a name like 'Sebastien Le Livre.'”

“Well, you're not exactly hiding your ethnicity yourself, are you, 'Wade MacDougall'?” Booker says. He likes this man already. He's funny, easy to talk to. And he's not hard on the eyes either.

Wade finally shrugs off his jacket, revealing a plain button-up with sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Booker can see tattoos spiraling up his forearms. He makes out some words written in a foreign language, a boat, a broadsword. Some Celtic symbols. Booker's gut churns as he's reminded on the scarred patch on his chest where a tattoo of his own used to be.

“Just so you know, I'm divorced,” he suddenly blurts. God damn it, making a fool of himself already.

“Just so you know, I'm transgender,” Wade counters. “Now that that's said, you wanna get the brioche with olives for the starter or the canapes?”

“Oh, the brioche, definitely. Unless you don't like olives.” Booker internally lets out a huge sigh of relief. Thank god that Andy and Quynh were smart enough to set him up with someone who can go toe-to-toe with him socially, cantilevering his awkwardness with bravado. The waitress comes over to the table then.

“What would you gentlemen be interested in this evening? Do you want to see the wine list?”

“Ah, no thanks,” Wade says. “Can I get an orange soda, if you have it? And we'll be getting the brioche with olives for the starter. And for the main, is your seafood fresh?”

“Brought in off the pier every morning, sir.”

“Good, then I'll have the smothered clams. Sebastien?”

Booker fumbles with his menu for a moment. “Uh, I'll have the chicken with tomatoes, with the Caesar salad as a side.”

“Okay,” the waitress says, then reads off their order. “Is that all?”

“Looks like it,” Wade replies, smiling at her.

Once the waitress is gone, Wade's face turns serious for a moment.

“You didn't react when I said I was transgender.”

“Were you expecting me to? I'm sorry,” Booker says. “I just....it's not big deal to me or anything. I know trans people, I've gone on dates with trans people. I've had several dozen trans students. Frankly, you're....” Booker looks down at the table, his cheeks flushing slightly. “You're a very handsome man, Wade. You being transgender is a non-issue.”

The expression on Wade's face is something between surprise and gratitude. For a completely ridiculous, irrational moment, Booker wants lean across the table and kiss him straight on the lips. He's just met this man, and he already wants to support him, defend him, though he's quite sure Wade could take him in a fight easily. But he wants to advocate for him, to prove to him that he is a safe person, that being around him won't cause him any discomfort or pain.

“That's good to hear, Sebastien,” Wade says. “And to be clear, I don't care that you're divorced, either, if that's been bothering you.” He's smiling again, thank god.

The dinner passes in a way that feels a bit too good. The food is delicious, Wade is brash and funny and delightfully weird, the check is split amicably. Booker finds himself almost heartbroken to say goodbye at the end of the night.

“Goodnight, Sebastien,” Wade says. “I really had a wonderful time.”

Without warning, Booker is swept into a tight hug, Wade making a delightful “mmmm” sound as he rests his head on Booker's chest. Booker returns the hug, smelling dinner and cigarettes and leather and vintage cologne.

“Thanks, Wade,” he says, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “Maybe we can do this again sometime. I mean, if you want to.”

“I'd be fucking thrilled,” Wade says, parting in a way that seems a little reluctant. “Oh, here's my number. Call me whenever you want to set up a second date.” He presses a piece of paper into Booker's palm before walking off. “See you soon, mo charaid!”

Booker almost floats to his car. He really should thank Andy and Quynh. Maybe get them something? Oh well, he'll figure it out later. Right now he's going to milk this feeling for everything it's worth.


	2. Sisterly Love

“So, how was your date?”

It's Saturday afternoon, and Lin has invaded his apartment again to scrounge for food and help him grade assignments. Booker looks up from his laptop, adjusting his reading glasses.

“How'd you know I had a date?” he says. “I never told you I had a date. Are you spying on me again?”

“I live three floors above you, dumbass,” Lin replies, her mouth full of Rice Krispies. “I saw you leaving last night wearing those pants that make you look like you actually have an ass.”

Booker groans and swats at her. He thinks he has a nice butt, all things considered, even without the slacks' help. He also wants to tell Lin that watching him out of her window technically counts as spying, but it's not like that will make her stop.

“So, how was it?” Lin says again, louder. Booker's not getting away without telling her at least something.

“It was nice,” he says, trying to give her the least amount of information possible. “The food was nice, the guy was nice.”

“Ooooh, a guy? It's been a while since you went out with a guy.”

Rats. Now he's gonna have to tell her everything. She's got that look on her face, the bug-eyed one where it feels like she's a robot, scanning him for data. He knows she means well, considers him her “big brother,” wants to protect him even though he's nearly twice her age. She probably feels like she owes him for all he's done for her, getting her out of trouble with those Ukrainian authorities, sheltering her and guiding her, getting her a job as his TA. It'd be more sweet if she wasn't so damn annoying sometimes.

“He's the new Ancient History professor. I'm pretty sure he said he specializes in ancient Europe, particularly the Celts, which makes sense because he is incredibly Scottish. As in, he wore an honest-to-god kilt to our date.”

“You're fucking joking.” Lin looks at him incredulously.

“I'm not, I promise,” Booker says. “An honest-to-god red tartan kilt. Like he was the damn Highlander or something. And I'm pretty sure he called me something in Scottish Gaelic at one point. I'll need to ask Quynh if she knows what 'mo charaid' means.”

“Already Google translating it. It means 'my friend.' But you said he was nice. Did you actually have a good time for once?”

Booker feels himself flush a little under her scrutinizing gaze. Most of his dates have not gone exactly well, either due to his natural introversion or his habit of completely ruining the moment. Not that Lin has anything to talk about, since she openly admits to hating most people. But yeah, he did have a good time. And so did Wade, if the piece of paper sitting on Booker's nightstand has anything to say about it.

“I got his number,” he finally admits. “And no, I won't tell you what it is. If you want to do any snooping on him, you'll have to do it on your own.”

“Oh, Bookie, I'm already on his LinkedIn and I've looked him up in the school directory. Says here he has a Master's in European History from the University of Edinburgh, and he's currently working on a PhD in Ancient History. Oh, and he's written a book about the Celtic genocide! Let me see if this has a link to his Facebook....”

Booker groans. He knows Lin is just doing her best to protect him because she cares, but she's already scared off a few of his potential suitors by hacking into their social media accounts. She's probably planning to stop by Wade's office and give the poor man a heart attack, too.

“'Wade MacDougall only allows friends to see his personal information,'” Lin says in a mocking tone. “Like that's ever stopped anyone with a basic knowledge of online interfaces. Here we go, aaaaand we're in. Looks like he's only 31. And he's got a twin sister! Actually, he has a lot of sisters.”

Booker tries to ignore all the information he's been given. It'd be a massive faux-pas to show up to his second date with Wade and already know everything about him, which is something that he's never been able to make Lin understand. He supposes that when you've grown up being able to know everything about a person with just a few clicks, the awkwardness isn't there like it is for people around his age. Or maybe the temptation is too much to resist. He's definitely had to set up online blockers for himself to avoid Facebook stalking Jehanne.

“Oh, and he does speak Scottish Gaelic, cuz it's right there under the 'languages spoken' tab in his bio. And he apparently hates 'Braveheart.'”

“It's probably not historically accurate enough for him,” Booker says, rubbing his temples. “Besides, Mel Gibson is a massive antisemite, so who in their right mind would be supporting his films?”

“You have a point.” Lin looks over at Booker, her expression softening for just a second.

“You know, I hate people and generally avoid them,” she says. “But if you really do like him, Seb, you should go for it. You actually looked genuinely happy when you were talking about him.”  
Booker smiles and sighs. Lin is right, Wade did make him happy. Maybe, just maybe, he'll continue to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> "Mo charaid" means "my friend" in Scottish Gaelic.   
> If you're wondering what part of Scotland Wade is from, he's from Argyll.


End file.
